


Take Me Home Tonight

by quixoticquest



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Car Sex, Eddie is a liar, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, POV Alternating, Secrets, Smut, Sort Of, Vaguely 2000s, Vaguely late 20s/early 30s, elements of miniseries, its a mess, no one forgets anything when they grow up that's stupid, so is Richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 00:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixoticquest/pseuds/quixoticquest
Summary: Eddie is dead set on preventing any of his old friends from knowing he still lives with his mother. Too bad Richie is dead set on getting into Eddie's house.Set in a mostly canon compliant universe between Chapter One and Chapter Two where Richie and Eddie still see a lot of each other and I borrow elements from the 1990 mini-series.





	Take Me Home Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first proper fic for the IT fandom, and my first proper fic in a couple of years, so there might be a couple kinks to work out. But I hope you enjoy!

A noisy descent into the chair to the immediate left sent Eddie jolting upright, the world solidifying around the edges of a dingy computer. He’d been staring at a spreadsheet document for hours, at this point. When he closed his eyes, they burned and watered a little.

 

“Man I’m beat,” Joe complained, whipping the chauffeur cap from his head to deposit on the desk, already cramped as it was. Eddie kept his mouth shut about the scatter of a few papers under the artificial breeze. “No more rides into Manhattan during rush hour. I mean it.”

 

“That’s a little unrealistic,” Eddie murmured dryly, returning to his spreadsheet. Tacking on a _People who don’t like to drive shouldn’t run limousine services_ would have served a better purpose, but knowing his own penchant behind the wheel, it was a little bit pot and kettle.

 

“Mind if I check my email?”

 

“Go ahead. But!” Eddie sprang from his chair, making room for Joe at the desktop and sweeping around to command attention, all in the same breath.

  
  
“All the background checks are done,” he explained evenly, beyond pleased with the progress of his office day, and even more so to be reporting on it. “I made a final decision, some phone calls, and if everyone shows up when they’re supposed to next week, you won’t have to worry about driving a limo into Manhattan during rush hour ever again.”

 

“No fooling!” Joe’s reaction was immensely satisfying, but Eddie would be lying if he said the prospect of not having to worry about the laborious part of his job was just as pleasant on its own. After the first couple trips behind the wheel of the stretch, the novelty of owning half his own business wore off fast.

 

“Uh huh. You can see it all there. The six new drivers, their availability, and then there’s another sheet for the schedule for next week. Nifty, isn’t it?” Even niftier that Eddie had taught himself the program the night before without bashing the computer screen in with a bat.

 

“Amazing.” Apparently Joe forgot about his email, and rose from the wheeled chair to give Eddie one of those one-armed clapping hugs that only guys of _his_ caliber were capable of. Eddie had sort of learned how to replicate one, if only to keep certain social situations from turning disastrous, but it always felt awkward.

 

“Kaspbrak, I could kiss you.”

 

“I don’t think you wife would like that.” Eddie snorted and rolled his eyes, half tipped toward the door.

 

“You know what I mean! I’m not good at any of that computer stuff. Who’d you decide on then? Did you go with Zach? I really liked Zach.”

 

“He didn’t exactly have a squeaky clean record, hate to break it to you. But I think you’ll be just as satisfied. We’ve got Rob, Mario, Pat...Richie?”

 

“I don’t remember Richie.”

 

That was probably because there was no Richie. None who had applied for the chauffeur job, anyway. Just the one waving in the window of the door sporadically, eyes and mouth wide, as Eddie stared at him in bewilderment.

 

“No,” he muttered, refraining from calling Joe stupid as he moved away to the door. Richie Tozier, right there at his workplace in Long Island, New York. Trying and failing to breathe steam onto the glass and write something in it.

 

A lot of thoughts tried to take center stage in Eddie’s head, but if he didn’t follow through with his forward motion, then he’d never get the door open. He was too surprised to even feign the disdain it would have taken to keep Richie locked outside.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Eddie demanded, confusion, alarm, and excitement all competing to make his voice shrill.

 

“Well gosh, Eddie, I missed you too,” Richie gushed, dragging Eddie into an exuberant hug before he could get a good swing in. It only lasted a couple seconds, with a lot of patting and ruffling and shuffling that prevented the stillness necessary to make it a proper embrace. But just enough for the solidity of it all to put Eddie past the initial shock.

 

“You got the time? My body’s still on Pacific, but that doesn’t matter, I’m up all night anyway, ifya know what I mean.” Separating, he poked Eddie in the ribs. “Luckily it’s already five o’clock here, so I don’t have to do my country singer impression every time I grab a beer. Who’s your friend?”

 

Eddie had forgotten Joe entirely in the cacophony that had consumed the last minute, and turned to find his business partner waiting patiently, if visibly nonplussed. Two worlds that Eddie never intended to let meet had collided like the world’s worst rear-ending in bumper-to-bumper traffic. He had never mentioned Richie, or any of the other Losers for that matter, to Joe, simply because he didn’t need to know. And never Joe to the others, because he wasn’t worth mentioning. Unless you counted all the other annoying work stuff.

 

Still, Eddie pulled off introductions flawlessly. It was all he could do. “Richie, this is my partner, Joe. Joe, this is Richie, he’s an old friend of mine.” A phrase that didn’t even _begin_ to encompass all it meant.

 

“Howdy, _partner_ ,” Richie said, opting for southern after all as they reached forward to shake hands while Eddie resisted the urge to drag his hands down his face.

 

“Nice to meet you. Eddie’s never mentioned you before.”

 

“Of course he hasn’t, I’m an enigma. Absolutely incapable of being described in words alone. But I taught him everything he knows. Who do you think told him to move to New York? Start a limo business!”

 

“That’s not true,” Eddie chimed in, trying valiantly not to fidget. Should have counted himself lucky, though, that he didn’t have to reign Richie in with the dreaded _beep beep_ in front of his business partner, who was probably floundering with the dynamic as is.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you take the credit on this one,” Richie replied loftily, a hand clamping down on Eddie’s shoulder with enough force to upset his stance a little. “Say, Eds, you hungry? I’ve been practicing this recipe for chicken saltimbocca, and I gotta say, it’s-” he kissed his fingers with a flourish. “Not only that, but I get extra points for being brave, because I put out a fire the first time I made it.”

 

“Uh,” Eddie uttered intelligently, glancing at Joe. There weren’t any more rides that night, but they were due to be open for another hour or so, and that meant taking calls and walk-ins. They still had to set up for the new drivers, too.

 

But Joe waved it all away. “Go on, I can hold down the fort. Sounds like you guys have catching up to do.”

 

Well, Eddie wasn’t going to argue with that. “If you have any questions about the spreadsheet, just call,” he said, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.

 

“Will do.”

 

“Take it easy, man,” Richie called as farewell, and with one final wave, Eddie ushered Richie out with him, and shut the door soundly.

 

“Finally! I thought he’d never leave.”

 

“ _We_ left,” Eddie stated, shuffling alongside Richie down the steps to the parking lot.

 

“Same thing. Wait ‘til you see my rental! It’s the fucking ugliest color I’ve ever seen in my life. Like dead skin. Chestburster beige.”

 

“Richie.” As enthralled as Eddie could be (had been) with such revolting topics, there were a lot of pieces missing from this puzzle. “Mind if I ask where you’re planning to cook? Your hotel room got a kitchen or something?”

 

“Hotel room?” Richie wrinkled his nose. “I was figuring we’d go to your place, Eds. Bet you have a real nice kitchen with all that celebrity money. Say, who’s the most famous person you’ve driven around? They’re nice to you, right? I’m not above fighting Sylvester Stallone, you know.”

 

Eddie hardly processed the litany spitting past Richie’s mouth. He was more concerned with the concept of going home. Specifically, bringing Richie home, to his mother, who was probably sitting in front of the TV watching GSN right now.

 

Something easy and frequent enough when they were kids. Kind of harrowing when they were adults. When he had managed to lie about his living arrangements for a couple years now.

 

“No,” Eddie insisted suddenly, bringing Richie to a stop with a tug on his sleeve. Dumb, blinking brown eyes stared down at Eddie, devoid of the glasses that made them bug enormously, back when they were little. Even now, those were some unfairly round irises.

 

“I mean, we can’t go to my place,” he continued effortlessly. “My kitchen’s real small, and fuck if I’m gonna let you raid my fridge and burn the house down. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have chicken, so we’d have to go to the grocery store, and then you’ll pull out empty fucking pockets and frown all sad at me, Monopoly man style, and then _I’ll_ have to-”

 

“Slow down, Spaghetti Man, you’ll hurt yourself,” Richie laughed, tilting close enough to plant his elbow on Eddie’s shoulder. It got him to where Eddie needed him, though - mentally, anyway. Wasn’t complaining about physical either, though. “Tell you what, scrap the chicken saltimbocca. Next time, though. Rain check.”

 

“Definitely,” Eddie lied. “Instead, let me take you out to dinner. There’s a real nice place on 2nd Street that I think you’ll like. So long as they serve dogs, you know?”

 

Richie smiled, and astoundingly, Eddie found it easy to mirror.

 

“Can’t say no to a pretty thing like you, can I?”

 

Eddie scoffed, pretending not to notice the accumulation of heat in his face against the admittedly nippy evening air. It was dark anyway, he was safe. Dark enough to be tempted by the lull of Richie bent toward him, instead of unnerved.

 

“‘Specially when you’re all inclined to pay for me. You know, I have a real hankering for lobster right now. Ooh, and caviar. Does this place have caviar?”

 

“Oh, fuck you.” Shoving Richie away, Eddie hurried off to the parking lot, only to be caught up to easily, the tall idiot practically stepping on his ankles. Good thing anyway, since he could point out his “blech-colored” car and offer the passenger's seat with all the put upon grace of an impressionist.

 

A little too late, Eddie realized he could have offered his own car too, glancing out the window at the Jetta parked closer to the curb, near the limousines. It would have given him better control over the evening, behind the wheel of a hellish effort to keep Richie away from his house. Hopefully Richie was okay with backseat driving.

 

The most pleasant surprise of Eddie’s life did not deserve to make his stomach sink so painfully.

-

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

 

“Hm?” Richie looked up, green blotches crowding his vision and mottling Eddie’s face. He may or may not have been staring at the red blinking light on their little - whatever it was. Those black disk things that buzz when you’re waiting for your table at a restaurant. What the fuck were they called?

 

“Well you showed up at my office out of the blue-”

 

“Business cards are super helpful,” Richie said with a sage nod. Not that he could remember where, when, how, or why Eddie gave him his business card, just that he had it in his wallet, tucked in front of his debit card. It was awfully plain, Eddie should have hired a graphic designer.

 

“Right,” Eddie responded. “But that doesn’t mean-”

 

“It’s like someone thought it would be a good idea to cross a pager with a frisbee,” Richie exclaimed incredulously, turning the device over and over. To be fair, it wasn’t like he couldn’t see Eddie out of the corner of his eye, glaring at him, getting impatient. If he couldn’t, it would have been much easier to fight his grin.

 

“Why are you here, Richie?”

 

“You asked me to dinner, silly.”

 

“ _Richie_ -”

 

“What do you think, Eds?” Abandoning the device to his lap, Richie planted his hands on either side of the bench they had relegated themselves to, outside the restaurant. It was a sin that there was enough space to fit his right hand between his and Eddie’s leg without any touching. “I couldn’t bear another moment apart from you, took the first plane outta LAX, and broke several laws blazing down the highway to see you.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie intoned.

 

 _Uh-huh_. “I had some downtime,” Richie explained further, wondering if he had broken his record for bush-beating - in the sense of the idiom, anyway. “And a little extra cash on my hands, so I thought, why not?”

 

“But we haven’t spoken in, what - weeks?”

 

Richie grinned. “Nice surprise, wasn’t it?” All of a sudden his lap buzzed, prompting a _Whoa, Nelly_ as he grabbed the pager device thing before it could cause him public shame.

 

“Fastest ten minutes of my life! Well, not quite. Restaurant la Madia’s got nothing on Brenda Arrowhead, in the tenth grade-”

 

“This is a nice place,” Eddie chided him in a harsh whisper, sidling up as they pushed past the doors back to the hostess desk. All Richie managed to do was keep grinning like an absolute dumbass, even as they were led into the back, to a nice cozy booth. Not even the weight of his little white lie could tamper the fluttery feeling he got when Eddie snapped at him, glared at him, took him to fucking dinner…

 

The lie was so white that it could probably get away with drug possession. But that didn’t mean Richie’s intentions were any less preemptive than he let on. Oh, but preemptive was such a strong word. All it meant was that he got to thinking a little too hard one night, all lonesome in Los Angeles, about Eddie, all lonesome in New York. Light years away.

 

 _I wish you’d let me come see you_ , Richie said more times than he could count, over the phone, in person, you name it.

 

 _I’ve been pretty busy lately_ , Eddie always said, in some way, shape or form. _Maybe later._

 

But Richie wasn’t stupid, not after the first three or four “busy”s anyway. There were only a handful of reasons, that Richie could think of, for someone to want to prevent their not-quite-significant-on-and-off-long-distance other from coming to visit them. At the moment, he could count three.

 

“Get whatever you want,” Eddie said, folding his menu up onto the table so that all Richie could see was his gooey chocolate brown eyes flicking back and forth, and the top of his perfectly combed head. “Within reason.”

 

“Then I guess Eddie a la mode is out of the question,” Richie murmured, relishing the moment dark eyes fixed him with a pointed look.

 

Reason number one was that the person in question was ashamed of their standard of living for some reason. Shitty job, crappy digs, you name it. But this was Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie didn’t have to see, or ask if his place was up to par, he fucking knew. Could probably eat food (and a lot of other things, hint hint wink wink) off the floor. Not to mention, that whole limousine service thing probably brought in a pretty penny, even if Eddie did have to split it two ways. Richie remembered prom, he knew how much limos cost. That’s why Bill drove them all instead.

 

“Try it!” Eddie demanded, as loud as he dared among all the other patrons. Richie was doing his damnedest to squirrel away from the _severed tentacle_ fried golden brown and speared on the fork in front of him.

 

“If I wanted squid, I would have parked at the shore and asked for a table for two, twenty thousand leagues under the sea,” he said politely.

 

“It doesn’t even taste like squid.” Eddie looked exasperated, but it all would have been fine if he just put the fucking thing down and left it be.

 

“But that’s what it is!”

 

With a resigned huff, Eddie dropped the fork, letting it clatter onto the appetizer in front of them. Richie couldn’t quite gauge his level of irritated, which probably meant it was time for some fixing.

 

“Tell you what,” he offered, hands steepled under his chin, an image of solemnity. “I will eat your squid, if you eat my squid.”

 

It wasn’t even clever, but now Richie knew what it took for Eddie to threaten to stab him with a forkful of calamari.

 

Reason number two was that avoiding a convergence at one home or another probably meant that the person was avoiding convergences altogether. Including ones in the bedroom. Meaning, said person wanted to break off whatever arrangement involved such things. Richie felt like he had mistaken a phantom step at the top of the stairs every time he imagined such a scenario.

 

But then he always remembered the times Eddie came to _him_ , or they met in the middle, and recounting such instances was enough to silence any doubt, and bring a flush to his cheeks.

 

“So, how’s the…” Eddie paused, apparently thinking, while Richie continued to chow down on his New York strip. “Business?”

 

Richie laughed around a mouthful of steak, covering his mouth with the back of his hand before that familiar look of disgust could cross Eddie’s face. He finished chewing, and swallowed, before speaking.

 

“Booming! Joke production is at an all time high, and laughter profit is through the roof. I’ve got the innuendo market cornered too.” As usual, Richie took a little slip up, and ran with it. As usual, Eddie was making every effort not to smile. This time it included pressing his fork past his lips, longer than he needed to for any imaginable bite.

 

“Don’t poke yourself,” Richie murmured unabashedly, before raising his voice. “It’s good. I’m still getting gigs and I’m not broke, so I guess that means people think I’m funny.”

 

“Something must be in the water, out there in California,” Eddie muttered wryly, shoving another chunk of salmon past his lips. Richie could have said a lot of things, but he just smiled.

 

Reason number three was that there might be something at home worth hiding. Not so much something, as some _one_. A little live-in situation, and not the kind with a vacuum and rubber gloves (unless Eddie was into that). Given that Eddie had already prevented Richie from going to his house, on top of the months and months and months of subject-avoiding, it seemed that there was only one explanation.

 

Richie wasn’t sure how he felt about the prospect of being two-timed. If he could even call it that - but it sounded a little nicer than _cheated on_ , which definitely couldn’t be the case. Because there was nothing to cheat over. He and Eddie weren’t exactly _boyfriends_ , bound to each other by any kind of label or covenant, and miles apart to boot. Richie sure wasn’t a picture of chastity, either. And who could blame Eddie, if he found some guy who liked him for all his hangups, was a good lay, and who was willing to split the price of a house with him. Maybe split a couple other things too, if Richie’s ideas about that guy at Eddie’s workplace were any indication. But that might have been overboard.

 

He just wished, if any of it was the case, that Eddie didn’t think he had to lie to him. Whoever it was was probably a pretty neat guy, for ol’ Eddie Spaghetti to be that into him. Maybe they would become best friends, or have a threesome. Who knows? Anything less than optimism was shoved under the bed, where Richie kept the rest of his negative feelings.

 

But anyhow. If Eddie wasn’t gonna be honest with him, then Richie had his own little reconnaissance mission to pull off. Complete with a honeypot, if he was lucky.

 

“Where are you staying?” Eddie asked, once dessert had been served. Richie tried in vain to lop the little peak of whipped cream off Eddie’s devil’s food, only to have his hand slapped. They should have shared, anyway.

 

“At your place, I was hoping.” Richie winked, but didn’t miss the little glance toward the ceiling Eddie pulled of while he was thinking of what to say.

 

“I dunno, Richie. My bed isn’t very big, either.”

 

“Neither was my bed, back at my folks’ place. Remember that one time I fell off trying to reach my bedside lamp? And Eds came tumbling after.”

 

“Yeah, that wasn’t fun,” Eddie muttered. Richie couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, so he just chuckled.

 

“I could get a hotel room,” the comedic genius offered a moment later, sliding the melted ice cream from his brownie a la mode (since the Eddie variety wasn’t available) around his plate. He knew what he was about to say wasn’t entirely honest, or right, but he swallowed all sour notions with another bite of warm chocolate and sweet cream.

 

“Probably more of a motel though, really. That plane ticket was pretty expensive. And the rental, whoo.  I can probably find a Motel 6, I think.” Richie sighed. “Hopefully it’s not the kind with cigarette burns in the mattress, though, that would suck.”

 

Glancing up under his brow, Richie found Eddie beset with a familiar look of glassy disdain. Bingo.

 

“You wanna give it a shot? I’ll put down towels.”

 

“I guess you can stay with me for tonight,” Eddie finally conceded, with a note of something vulnerable in his voice. Richie decided he couldn’t feel like an asshole if his mouth was busy, so he gasped, and clutched his hands to his chest.

 

“Really Eds, you mean it?” He put on his best starving British orphan voice. “Oi, you’re a real saint, gov’na, to take in a poor sod like me off the streets. I promise I’ll make it up to you! If consumption doesn’t get me first…” Richie coughed a couple times, and managed to dodge a cloth napkin thrown his way, dissolving into laughter.

 

“Let’s get outta here, we’ve made enough of a scene.”

 

“We?!”

 

“We,” Richie repeated confidently, swiping the check off the table to examine, and stuff a couple bills into, despite protests from across the table. With the antics he was trying to pull that evening, he could afford to buy dinner. And maybe a couple dozen more, for the rest of their lives. Or as long as Eddie could stand him, anyway.

-

Ninety-nine Summer street was not Eddie’s address. He didn’t even know what was actually there, only that it stuck with him because of how nice it all sounded together, having seen it on a flyer or bulletin or something. If he had known it was twenty minutes away from the restaurant, he would have tried to dig a little deeper into the recesses of his memory for a destination that required less gasoline.

 

But hey, whatever got them further from his house.

 

“Um, Eddie?” Richie drawled out, after a slow crawl to the side of the road, where he parked upon arrival at their destination. Heralding the inevitable quip. Eddie just closed his eyes silently, because at this point, he just fucking deserved it.

 

Turned out 99 Summer was a church, tucked against a dead end street where a bypass ran perpendicular to them on the other side full of speeding cars too busy to stop and look. What better place to end up after lying through his teeth?

 

“Look, I don’t judge, but when I asked where you live, I meant literally, not spiritually.”

 

“I don’t go here,” Eddie clarified, resisting the urge to snort incredulously. Or kick the dashboard. He tried to remember the last time he had been to church, and failed. Probably some Easter a thousand years ago, where his mom wouldn’t let him have much more than jellybeans and a couple Reese’s.

 

“Well unless you’re God, this sure ain’t your fucking house,” Richie remarked, pointing into the windshield at the _Holy Angels Parish_ sign.

 

“I _know_.” Eddie huffed, eyes darting toward Richie. Of course, the big dumbass was staring at him expectantly, elbow resting on top of the steering wheel. Eddie wanted to smack the arched brows and stretched mouth right off his face.

 

Instead, he got a better idea, and threw himself across the center console, succeeding in claiming Richie’s lips, and not bludgeoning himself against the window.

 

There was a slight noise of discomfort, but Eddie got the cue to stay put as long arms came around, him his own hands rising to either side of Richie’s face. He tried to press forward, but managed only to jam the gear shift further into his thigh, and decided his face would have to do. In no time he had his mouth pried open, slotting and shifting against plush lips before the inevitable retreat for breath.  


“Naughty naughty, Eds,” Richie puffed, grinning like a cat with cream. Eddie liked to imagine he was already flushed, but it was too dark in the car to see. “This is hallowed ground, you know.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not Catholic.”

 

The irony of making out with his not-really-boyfriend in front of a church was not lost on Eddie. He could only hope Richie’s sense of humor was just enough, (and that his own was convincing enough) that he thought this had been the plan from the beginning.

 

In no time Richie had his tongue between Eddie’s teeth, itchy fingers shifting lower, into Eddie’s back pockets. A hum of approval breathed out of Eddie, muffled by Richie’s mouth as he made every attempt to edge closer, for more bodily contact. The best part about distracting Richie this way was that it distracted him too, and made all the empty months between now and the last time he saw the unbearable trashmouth just a little bit worth it.

 

“Any closer and you’re gonna honk the horn with that perky little ass of yours.” Richie pressed a kiss to Eddie’s chin, and made no move to loosen his grip. “Don’t wake the priest.”

 

Eddie ignored the obvious self-deprecating comments popping up in his head about his own aging body, and pinned Richie with a rather dry look that he was pleased to accomplish, under the flushed-and-panting circumstances.

 

“I don’t even think that’s remotely possible.”

 

“You got enough bounce to pull it off.” The long hands down Eddie’s pockets squeezed eagerly, and he gasped. If he hadn’t been aware of the tightness in his pants already, he was now.

 

“Backseat,” Riche offered excitedly, not quite question or command.

 

“In a rental car?”

 

“You gonna rip open the seat or kick out the window? No? Promise? Then let’s get movin’ and groovin’, Spaghetti Man!” Richie dislodged himself and whirled his hand in the air in the universal gesture of _get a move on_ . Refraining from a groan of _any_ kind, Eddie extricated his own body and made to get out of the passenger’s seat, while Richie toyed with the buttons on the radio.

 

For a second, Eddie indulged the chilly air, decidedly pointing his gaze away from the place of worship to his immediate right. Of all the things he could possibly begin to get squeamish about out here, the whole deceit thing was taking precedent pretty easily.

 

When he let himself in to the backseat, Eddie Money was murmuring out lyrics over a sleek drum beat, and Richie was hunkering down through the door on the other side. As infuriating as Richie could be - constantly - his taste in background music was impeccable. Except the time he went with Danger Zone. And the other time he went with 9 to 5. And the other time he went with Girls Just Want to Have Fun…

 

“ _Anticipation’s running through me_ ,” Richie sang along low under his breath, face shadowed in the dim car, looming closer. “ _Let’s find the key and turn this engine on_.”

 

Before he could start caterwauling, Eddie grasped Richie by either side of the face again and crowded forward for a thorough kiss. He quickly traded that grip to wrap his arms around Richie’s neck as he shifted, until Eddie was bent across the seats, almost sitting on top of the taller man. There was still his leg bent against the floor of the car to make up for the severe lack of space, but soft lips and exploring hands made up for any discomfort.

 

Just in time for the chorus, Eddie pushed himself lower, mouthing at the crook of Richie’s jaw, and then the razor-smoothed space under his chin, where he could feel his heartbeat. Eddie was hell-bent on leading the way on this one, like his life depended on it. Luckily he knew just where Richie liked to be touched, a map he’d known like the back of his hand for the better part of his adult life.

 

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie huffed, scrabbling at the taut pull of the jacket across Eddie’s shoulders. It was an effort not to smile, so he could lave properly at the fluttering pulse under his lips. Skidding and teasing just enough not to leave marks that wouldn’t be gone by morning, since Eddie was leagues more considerate than Richie when he had a tent in his pants.

 

Those warm, nimble hands made their way under Eddie’s jacket, and he felt an effort to tug his shirt out from his belt. Too bad he buckled up to the last notch. This time, he wasn’t able to chide Richie for not giving a damn about his carefully pressed shirts. If it kept him out of his house, Eddie could afford the wrinkles.

 

He relented eventually, lifting away to help himself out of the vice grip of belted pants. Of course, Eddie couldn’t manage that without knocking his head off the roof, thumping enough to rattle his skull, and bite out an expletive.

 

“Who knew you were tall enough to clear the head rests,” Richie chortled out, instead of being even remotely helpful. Somehow he slid low enough to have his head against the curved edge where the window met the car door, which couldn’t have been comfortable. Eddie didn’t care.

 

“You’d be so much more charming if you couldn’t talk.” Eddie’s breath came back to him in increments, raking his jacket off his shoulders so the ends wouldn’t get in the way. It allowed him more movement too, anyway, while he unbuckled his belt and yanked the tails out of his pants.

 

“No can do, sweetheart, that’s the money maker.”

 

“Would you please shut up!”

 

“Hey, you wouldn’t have bumped your head if we were in bed at your place.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie grumbled, aiming for a tenderness in his tone that wasn’t incredibly difficult to achieve, “I couldn’t wait.”

 

The crooked grin spread across Richie’s mouth was at least a little rewarding - but it was even more so when it split into a trembling _oh_ , when Eddie ground himself against the apex of Richie’s thighs enough to have his own lips falling open a bit uselessly.

 

It was Richie’s turn to swear, hands shooting out to grab Eddie’s hips, as if to halt. Eddie knew better, though, and managed to place himself properly for utmost friction when Richie bucked up sporadically into the masked heat of his crotch. Even if the shameless trashmouth couldn’t be silenced, Eddie was happy to settle on the alternative of aimless cursing. Especially when his name came up, even if it was that stupid nickname

 

If he closed his eyes and just listened, he was eighteen again, in the back of Richie’s ancient Corvair van, smelling faintly of pizza and Febreeze. Back when he fancied them all being the next Mystery Gang. _Only the best for my Eddie_ , Richie would gush cheekily, when it wasn’t particularly ideal. His van, his room, Eddie’s room, and all the different places of varying status over the years. They all blended in, one in the same sometimes. But Eddie always came back to the glory days. The repetition. The first.

 

Despite a driven effort to get himself low enough to administer the best blow job of Richie’s life, it didn’t look like it was gonna happen. There was wasn’t even enough room for Richie to spread out, let alone for Eddie to get his mouth anywhere near his dick. There wasn’t much room for a lot of things, Eddie realized, lamenting the abandonment of his own car again. Not that that would have served its purpose either. The fact of the matter was, it wasn’t Richie’s Corvair van.

 

“Whatsa matter, Eddie Spaghetti, don’t wanna cum in your pants this time?” Richie managed, with more annunciation than he should be capable of, under the circumstances. Eddie wasn’t doing a good enough job, then.

 

“I’d rather not,” Eddie snapped.

 

“Never fear, Eddie dear. I’ve come prepared.” One of Richie’s hands slid away from its bruising grip on Eddie’s waist, and Richie strained and arched and made all kinds of noises that did not need to be involved in his attempt to open the center console. Somehow, he managed to get his hand around the lid and inside, and ahold of whatever he was feeling for. The lid shut on his hand, prompting another litany of filth to fall out of his mouth, shaking his fingers with his mouth screwed up into a wince. The console lid didn’t even click shut.

 

All Eddie could do was marvel, that this was who he’d chosen to invest his love and affection in. You think he’d have more sense.

 

“For you, my sweet,” Richie said, apparently having recovered enough to bat his eyes at Eddie, and present his provisions: a squeeze bottle of lubricant, and a row of condoms.

 

“I don’t know what you think this is,” Eddie muttered, pushing up Richie’s shirt (untucked) to find the hem of his pants (devoid of belt). “There’s three square feet of space in here.”

 

“Just giving you some options to work with.”

 

“Thanks.” Eddie got Richie’s button and fly undone, and with a little help from wriggling hips, managed to get everything far enough out of the way to have Richie full mast in his hand. After that, he made quick work of his own zipper and all it contained, shifting to expose himself unceremoniously.

 

“There he is,” Richie said, prompting Eddie to squeeze a little viciously around his shaft. The choked noise that came tumbling out of Richie’s mouth was just way too vindicating.

 

Eddie took the condoms and lube, tossing the former somewhere into the front seat so he could see what he was dealing with. As if he was even gonna try to get Richie’s dick up his ass in the cramped little back seat.

 

“Cherry pop,” he recited with mock consideration from the label. “ _Tangy lube for lovers_.”

 

“Only the best for my Eddie.”

 

Maneuvering himself was tricky, just to edge flush with Richie, but it got Eddie worked up enough to be back where he needed to be. Ignoring all qualms about soiling his hands, he squeezed a liberal amount of the cherry-scented lubricant into his palm. Eddie dropped the bottle so he could rub his hands together, and line up their cocks.  
  
“Oh boy oh boy,” Richie breathed. Instead of responding, Eddie slid his slick hands up their shafts, and relished the tantalizing contact that sent shivers arching up his spine. And the noisy reaction of a tensing Richie, beside himself.

 

Eddie fucked into the circle of his own hands, selfish and shameless if it weren’t for the indulgent hitch of Richie’s body beneath him into the same wet heat. Sweat clung to Eddie’s brow and made his shirt stick to his skin, making him wish they had thought about air conditioning a little sooner. If his head wasn’t tipped away and his eyes scrunched shut, then it was tipped forward against his chest, so he could watch Richie unravel on the seat under him.

 

Finally, Eddie threw himself down, catching himself on the driver’s seat head rest before he crushed Richie, so he could crush their lips together instead. He moaned into Richie’s mouth like he had never found him repulsive a day in his life, his hips working wildly against the engulfing slide of skin on skin. When Richie got his hand between them too, around Eddie’s, it was heaven. His free arm on the head rest flung toward the window for a better grip, only to slide in the steam clinging to the glass, and land next to Richie’s head.

 

“Nice _Titanic_ reference,” Richie panted, smushed against his mouth.

 

“Fuck you,” Eddie hissed, groaning wantonly a moment later.

 

“You _are_. Kind of.”

 

All it took was a couple of well placed thrusts to have Richie literally in the palm of his hand, a warm burst against Eddie’s abdomen where his shirt had rucked up, before he could think about the clean up. The sight of Richie, pupils blown and rolling and mouth babbling absolute gibberish, well, it was only a matter of time before Eddie followed him over the edge.

 

He came with a desperate grunt, tensing against the agonizing flutter inside of him, and the pool of warm a second later. Before he could think of the ramifications, Eddie dropped to lie against Richie. A hand (the dry one, thank God) rose to brush through his hair, as Eddie let his eyes fall shut on Richie’s shoulder.

 

A few breath-heavy moments ticked by, before their combined efforts for oxygen went quiet and relaxed. All Eddie could hear then was Richie’s rapid heartbeat.

 

“Eds?” he heard soon enough, quiet and tired. Eddie remained still, eyes closed, breath even. If he could fool Richie into thinking he was asleep, then he didn’t have to tell him his address, or go home, or see his mother. Even though Eddie usually found this type of lazy behavior reprehensible.

 

“Rise and shine,” Richie continued, as Eddie felt his fingers prodding random inches of his body in an attempt to get him moving. It took grinding his teeth not to tense against the exploration.

 

“If you don’t get up now, you’re not gonna be able to clean yourself up, and you’ll hate yourself, and blame little ol’ _me_ …”

 

Fuck, he was right. Flicking his eyes open into a glare, Eddie got himself up with a groan that definitely wasn’t wanton, making every effort to keep his disgusting hands away from everything. By some miracle, most fluids had evaded their clothes.

 

He heard Richie laugh, giggling really, since apparently Eddie’s postglow frustration was just so damn funny. Eddie spared him the potential cleanup that would involve a slap to the face, and instead focused on pushing himself into sitting, and getting any and all gunk off him - his poor jacket wound up being the impromptu towel.

 

“I love when you get all messy,” Richie murmured fondly, apparently _looking_ for a slap to the face. “We’ll have to clean ourselves up properly when we get to your place.”

 

“Ugh, Rich.” A spark of panic managed to lace its way up Eddie’s sternum, but he fought it smoothly. After all, if he wasn’t a good liar, he would have never gotten away with getting tangled up with Richie way back when in his van in the first place.

 

“I’m so beat. Aren’t you? Do you even want to drive?”

 

“If it means you’ll let me use your shower, hell, I’ll drive anywhere.” Smiling all smug, Richie tipped his chin up. If he was looking for a kiss, he wasn’t getting it. Though it crossed Eddie’s mind that he could try to seduce him again.

 

Ugh, but he really _was_ so beat.

 

“Fine,” Eddie agreed grudgingly, flinging his jacket at Richie to wipe off most of the mess with. You’d think with lube and condoms, he would have thought to include tissues or towels or something.

 

He’d think of some other way to keep Richie out of his house, he decided, pulling himself back into the passenger’s seat a couple minutes later, while Richie shifted into drive and asked for directions. It would be haphazard and probably a little unconvincing, but Eddie could manage. Now he had the added responsibility of keeping his mom from seeing the post-orgasm mess they’d made of themselves.

 

And if he failed, well, Eddie could always run into that church to pray his mother had turned in for an early bedtime this evening.

-

Long Island had some real nice houses, Richie noticed, driving through some awfully pretty suburban areas that demanded he reduce his speed at every turn. None of which were _Eddie’s_ apparently, when the squirrelly little bastard kept telling him to make rights and lefts and so on and so forth. After that detour at the church, Richie had half a mind to think he had been sent on a wild goose chase.

 

Which only served to solidify his theories about a kept man hidden at the Kasprak residence. Though, if that was the case, then Richie was the kept man, really.

 

“Is it that one?” Richie asked, as they passed a little ranch style place on the left. Small, modest, probably had a nice backyard by the looks of the front yard. Just like Eddie.

 

“No,” was the answer he got, prompting a weary sigh from the resolved driver.

 

“I’m gonna have to start dropping breadcrumbs, Eds.”

 

“We’re almost there, I promise. Turn left.”

 

“I’m running out of gas!”

 

Eddie rolled his eyes, as if Richie getting stranded with a car that wasn’t actually his own in the middle of residential nowhere in a state he didn’t live in was not the worst thing in the world. In fact, there probably was worse, but Richie couldn’t imagine _what_ that could be right now. He tried pulling sad puppy eyes and pouty lips at Eddie, but the road commanded his attention, if he didn’t want to run over any _Queen’s Paideia School Honor Students_.

 

“Here,” Eddie said all of a sudden, very quietly, bringing Richie’s head whipping in his direction fast enough to cause whiplash.

 

“Where?! Here?”

 

“Yes, here.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, don’t hit my mailbox!”

 

Slowing down a little, Richie turned into the driveway indicated by Eddie, confident enough to pull all the way up to the closed garage door, since he was pretty sure Eddie had left his car at work. Whether there was another _partner_ car hiding behind paneled white aluminum, that had yet to be seen.

 

Richie peered through the window at the fairly modern two-story, built up in squares with a nice long stairway to the wrap around porch, complete with swing. It certainly put his LA apartment to shame, as far as exteriors went.

 

Richie’s eyes narrowed assessively. What did a bachelor need two floors for?

 

“Damn, Eds, you didn’t tell me you were out here livin’ the high life.”

 

“I’m not,” Eddie said pointedly. His seatbelt remained securely fastened.

 

“That porch swing looks real nice. How high does it go?” Before Eddie could answer, Richie leapt out the door, yanking the clunky rental key out of the ignition in the same breath, and slammed it shut behind him. He couldn’t tell if Eddie’s muffled protests were real or imagined, since Eddie was protesting all the time anyway. Maybe if got to the porch and knocked, Partner Joe would answer, all ready to give Eddie a ride in _his_ limousine for the night.

 

Before Richie could clear the yard though, Eddie came spiraling out of the car, with an arm long and fast enough to grab Richie by the wrist. “Wait a second!”

 

Managing a quiet _fuck_ in the silence of his mind, Richie spun in place, looking down at Eddie expectantly.

 

“You’re not allowed to break my porch swing!” Eddie insisted incredulously.

 

“Come on, Eddie, I wasn’t really going to. I wasn’t even gonna sit on it.” Richie tried to convince the high-strung little bottle of shaken soda to calm down with two hands on either shoulder. There was that guilt setting in again. The things Richie would do for the truth.

 

“Not without you, anyway.”

 

“I know, but…” Jesus, but with the apprehensive look Eddie was utterly failing to mask, there was no way for Richie not to think he was hiding _something_. That thought made his heart hurt more than the friend-based conspiracy theories he’d managed to conjure up.

 

“I’m already up for round two,” Eddie finished in a confessional tone, his arms coming up over Richie’s chest. “You know, your backseat was way more comfortable than I thought it would be.”

 

“I bet your bed’s light years more comfortable, Eds.” Even Richie wasn’t dumb enough to fall for that one.

 

“But the stuff is all here,” Eddie complained, dragging Richie closer by two fistfuls of his shirt (and to his credit, it was pretty hard for the whole thing not to go straight to Richie’s dick). “I don’t have any lube or anything.”

 

“Maybe we could try it dry, just this once.”

 

“That’s not even funny.”

 

Before Richie could concede to that one and make his case again, Eddie was up on his toes and yanking him down to jam their lips together. With that little tongue already probing past his lips and demanding an invasive kiss, there was really no way for Richie to refuse.

 

He pressed Eddie against the side of the car, earning a languid, muffled moan as he probed right back, hands on either side of a slender face. It was just late enough that Richie didn’t have to worry about those honor students or anyone else walking by to find them tangled up together. Which was especially good, when Eddie got his knee up between Richie’s legs.

 

It really went to show what kind of horndog he was, stuck in fantasies of the nineties while the twenty-first century raged around them, already a little hot and bothered because Eddie had a jumpy leg. A jump leg Richie was happy to hump into, as said horndog, while he kissed a trail down to Eddie’s shirt collar.

 

“No marks,” Eddie told him breathlessly. _My partner Joe wouldn’t like that very much,_ Richie filled in.

 

“That’s no fun.” Richie did his damnedest to get his hand down between their bodies, still just a little sticky with sweat. A bit teasing, he reached up to tug Eddie’s earlobe between his teeth, and revelled in the shudder reaction he garnered.

 

“I mean it, Richie!”

 

Huffing a laugh, he relinquished the bite. “Gee, Eddie, are those your keys in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

 

“You tell me,” the beautiful little ball of antsy energy murmured, nose pressed into Richie’s hair.

 

“I think it’s the keys.”

 

Smooth as you like, Richie dipped his hard working hand into Eddie’s pocket, hooking his middle finger around a key ring, and zipping back. Before Eddie could even react (too frazzled, probably, but Richie didn’t want to brag), the _shameful_ trashmouth was sprinting for the porch.

 

He really should have been a spy or something, Richie thought with a helpless sigh. At least the kind who seduced handsome folks to take things from them. There was really only one key it could be, between a bulbous black device that no doubt belonged to a car and an industrial looking thing, and Richie was pleased to find the chambers turning oh so easily when he inserted the likely culprit. Yup, definitely a spy.

 

“ _Richie!_ ” he heard Eddie screech behind him, but not in time to prevent Richie from pushing the front door open, and letting himself in to the nicest foyer he’d seen in his life.

 

He was hit by a wave of cinnamon and clove, with neutral tones that matched the autumnal scent. The wide hallway was jazzed up with a table or two containing a few knick knacks and paper weights, and some picture frames as well  - Richie was elated to find one of the seven of them, from a long time ago. He didn’t have that one, he’d have to ask Eddie for a copy.

 

A stairway at the end of the hallway beckoned Richie to explore, but he was distracted as a flushed and wide-eyed Eddie came up alongside him, looking like he was in the mood for strangling. More so than usual. Richie had felt bad for too long to let it stop him now.

 

“This is so nice,” he stated honestly, stepping around the foyer on quiet feet, ears and eyes peeled for signs of life. “Aw, Eddie, you really are an adult now.” He’d carved out a little place for himself in the world, and it smelled like a candle.

 

“Richie, I swear to _fucking_ God-”

 

“Eddie? Is that you?”

 

A voice from the adjacent room had Richie’s entire body leaning in the direction of the noise, heart exploding against his ribcage for one reason or another. He wanted to scream _Aha!_ And burst in to shake loverboy’s hand and give him his grand prize of not making a stink, and savie the water works for later. But there were a handful of reasons why Richie didn’t. Only two this time.

 

Reason one was that the voice was definitely not male. Not any man Richie had ever heard anyway, brows furrowing in unadulterated confusion. Aged, too, unless his ears were deceiving him. Which didn’t make any sense. If there was one truth in the whole world, it was that Eddie Kaspbrak was not into older women. Or women at all, for that matter.

 

Reason two was that the dejected, sagging look of defeat wrought across Eddie’s face was enough to have Richie’s tongue sticking in the back of his throat, as a painful curl gripped him around the stomach. Either the potatoes that came with his steak had been bad, or he was regretting his entire line of action from the last twenty-four hours.

 

“Eddie would you come here, please?”

 

Sighing visibly, Eddie combed through his mussed hair with his fingers. He didn’t look as bad as he probably thought he did, but that only served to clench the unforgiving grip on Richie’s organs.

 

“Coming!” Eddie called, and fuck, Richie couldn’t even come up with a joke for that one. The shorter man pinned him with a look that wasn’t quite energized enough to be withering, and muttered a simple, “Come on.” Richie didn’t have to be told twice.

 

He followed Eddie into the next room, a den by the looks of it, where it smelled equally of cinnamon and clove. A silent flat screen played a rerun of _Family Feud_ , with stark subtitles beneath it. The place was homey and lived-in, with a touch of Eddie.

 

And there was Sonia Kaspbak, spaced toward the other side of the room, set up in a La-Z-Boy. She was gray from roots to tips and noticeably larger, but it was definitely her. Richie had been stared down by the same dead look enough times that he could remember in his sleep, even years and years later.

 

“Hey, Mom.” Eddie crossed the room, noticeably around the loveseat instead of in front of the TV, to crouch down beside his aged mother and press a kiss to her cheek. The imagery was so jarring that Richie had to hold onto the back of the chair he had so meekly positioned himself behind.

 

You know those old Looney Tunes, where one of the characters would realize they did some dumb shit, and turn into a donkey for a three second joke? That’s how Richie felt right now. Hell, that was where he’d learned how to spell “jack ass”.

 

“You remember Richie Tozier, don’t you?” Eddie asked, pointing across to him. Richie figured he better come forward if he wanted to get out of this one alive, so he did, shuffling as far as he dared.

 

Sonia looked up at him with that all too familiar bulldog face, just with more wrinkles and jowl-ness now. Richie managed a smile that felt a little funny on his lips, waiting for her to say something, or blink, maybe.

 

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Kasprak.”

 

Instead of responding, she turned back to Eddie, who seemed to have aged five years in the last sixty seconds.

 

“We’re out of bread,” she said, first she’d spoken since Richie entered the room. “And I left my pillbox in the kitchen.”

 

“Alright,” Eddie replied softly, some half-decided agreement as he rose to standing, a hand on her shoulder. Sonia’s attention was back to the television, where Richard Karn was talking to an eager family of blondes. Brown eyes locked on his as Eddie crossed the room, and Richie knew better than to dawdle in place.

 

“I’m sorry,” he tried, feeling a little useless as he followed to the kitchen parallel with the den. Eddie spun around in the foyer though, bringing Richie to stumble in his tracks.

 

“What, no joke about my mom’s vagina?” he whispered harshly, while Richie fought for something that wasn’t going to get him in deeper shit.

 

“Eddie, how was I supposed to know?”

 

“You weren’t!” Eddie reared back, eyes shinier than they ought to have been. A lightbulb might as well have went on over Richie’s head, and burst into a million pieces.

 

A cleansing breath, and Eddie was straightening his sleeves, a fidgety sort of gesture Richie was way too familiar with. “Stay put,” he ordered. “I have to get her pills.” With that, Eddie turned for the kitchen, leaving Richie standing there helplessly. He should have counted himself lucky, that he wasn’t banished to the den to entertain Sonia until Eddie got back.

 

They wound up on the porch swing, after Eddie had done a few things to take care of his mother. It was a little too cold to justify chatting on the porch, but that’s where Eddie had gone, and hell if Richie was going to argue at this point.

 

“I didn’t even get a year out of college,” Eddie explained, a confession he tried to make less heavy with half-smiles and self-admonishing chuckles, “before I got a call that my mom had broken her hip going down the steps. I don’t even know how she fucking did it, it’s not like she’s decrepit. She wasn’t back then anyway.”

 

Richie nodded along, knowing his mouth would serve no purpose now, and if he opened it he couldn’t trust an ill-timed jibe not to fall out.

 

“And she wouldn’t tell me,” Eddie continued, his thumbs twiddling against each other like he was Thumb Wrestling with himself. “Just accused me of abandoning her, like it was somehow my fault she couldn’t walk down the fucking stairs like a normal human being. What could I have done? Caught her? I’m the next of kin, though,and she couldn’t walk when she was recovering, so it was either take her with me, or move back to Derry.”

 

That sure as hell wasn’t a decision Richie could blame Eddie for making. Seemed either way he got saddled with his wicked mother, no step required. It was almost worse than moving back to Derry.

 

“You could have told me,” Richie offered, though as soon as it left his mouth, he felt stupid. Of course Eddie didn’t tell him.

 

Eddie shook his head, eyes going all moist again. Somehow, activating Richie’s fight or flight mechanism. “No, no, I couldn’t have. I couldn’t tell any of you guys.” He did that sad little chuckle again, and ducked his head. “It’s pathetic. You know? I’m a functioning adult, and I still live with my mother. I know I could have gotten away from her years ago, but I didn’t. I guess it’s just supposed to be this way.”

 

“Oh come on, Eds,” Richie muttered. It got Eddie to look at him, and _thank fuck_ , he wasn’t really crying. That was like, number one on the list of immediate disasters Richie was trying to prevent.

 

“Look at you!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the direction of Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. “You’ve got this successful business right smack dab in the middle of a city that’s way more popular than it deserves to be, you’re making enough money to afford these sweet digs. You’re confident and self-assured, which is the same thing even if you’re projecting it, ‘cause that’s just proof. You’re like, the furthest thing from pathetic. What’s the opposite of pathetic, anyway? Is it inspiring? You’re inspiring! Especially if you’re taking care of your mom every day, God, I couldn’t do it.”

 

To Richie’s credit, Eddie smiled more than the little half thing he had being pulling off for the last five minutes. Richie grinned earnestly. It was more gratifying than the loudest laughter from the biggest audience he’d ever had.

 

“You wanna see pathetic? Try me, freshman year of college.”

 

“Everyone’s pathetic in college,” Eddie retorted, smacking Richie lightly in the ribs. He snatched up the opportunity to take Eddie’s hand, if only to stop that goddamn twiddling.

 

“Okay, I’ll do you one better.” Gearing up for all the embarrassment in the world, Richie took a deep breath: “I thought you were hiding a lover from me.”

 

The look on Eddie’s face was more than enough to tell Richie how stupid a theory it had been.

 

“Hear me out! You never wanted me to come see you, to the point where you avoided the subject altogether. Then all this business, where it took us three fucking hours to get to your house? What else is there to drive around suburban Long Island and defile holy ground for?”

 

A wretch of a mother, apparently.

 

“I thought it was that Joe guy,” Richie tacked on, mournfully, and Edde snorted into the palm of his free hand. “I mean, _partner_ can only mean so many things, when you’re gay.”

 

“Business partner!” Eddie exclaimed shrilly, while Richie tried to fight the heat in his cheeks and ears and neck, despite the smile stretched across his face. “He’s _married_ , the straightest guy I know for fuck’s sake.”

 

“Well you never know, a lot of those married fellows have deep dark secrets. I wouldn’t be surprised if you took it upon yourself to give a poor businessman some relief.”

 

Eddie twisted up his mouth, so very obviously fighting a smile that probably would have had Richie in goo on the floor anyway. “Richie, the fact that you thought I might be living out here in some sort of arrangement with the guy I own my company with is the dumbest fucking thing that’s ever come out of your mouth.”

 

“Oh come on, really?” Richie demanded. “Why?”

 

Eddie lifted his head, expression softening, so Richie got to see those brownie batter eyes in all their chocolatey glory. A little too soft, he figured, feeling his very own smile falter a bit under all that fond attention.

 

“I dunno,” Eddie lied. The best one yet.

 

Indulging the silence that followed, without any birds or cicadas to interrupt, Richie got his arm around the back of the swing, creaking and swaying slightly, until he had his hand on the other side of Eddie’s shoulders. He still had the twitchy thumb hand sedated in his other, and leaned over to knock their heads together.

 

“Gotta get you outta here,” Richie mumbled into Eddie’s impossibly soft hair, pressing a kiss, almost absently. _Away from her_ . “What’s a nice thing like you doing in a place like this? We could be in LA, y’know. Get ourselves a place just like this one. Well, maybe a little smaller, price of living out there is downright criminal. But you’d have an all access pass to Richie Tozier’s comedy hour, _every_ hour. Whaddaya say?”

 

Eddie scoffed. Richie sure hoped he wasn’t trying to hide anything a la Don’t Ask Don’t Tell from the rest of the neighborhood. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t (it was New York, after all), but Eddie pressed closer, into the crook of Richie’s shoulder, running those errant fingers over his own boney knuckles.

 

“Maybe someday,” Eddie answered dully, like he didn’t really believe it. Richie couldn’t blame him.

 

But damn, a guy could dream.

 

They got that hotel after all, driving back into the city in search of the ritziest place Richie could find (since he suddenly had way more to owe, beyond the occasional check at dinner). To hell with chicken saltimbocca, and to hell with the bed, even. The shower was big enough for two.


End file.
